


Ready, set, bake!

by hettiemiathwacky



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - College/University, Amy is a textiles student, Amy is fine, Baking, Cake decorating, Discussions of Murder, Discussions of Suicide, Fluff, Great British Bake Off - Freeform, Happy Ending, Kieren is an art student, M/M, Simon is an english student, The ULA went to a different town, everyone is still pds, everything is slightly different AU, kind of, no second rising, possibly a bit of angst in the middle, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 23:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3400529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hettiemiathwacky/pseuds/hettiemiathwacky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon loves The Great British Bake Off. He cant believe it when one of the contestants turns up at his uni. They bond over cat smuggling and a love of baking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready, set, bake!

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the In The Flesh minibang challenge 2015, is the longest thing I have ever written/finished and entirely unbetad and thus may not make a lick of sense. If there is anything that doesn't make sense, please let me know and I'll try and fix it. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I was paired with quierenwalker on tumblr, there will hopefully be some art to follow, and I will put the link here when it becomes available.

On the list of things that Simon Monroe loved most, baking took pride of place.

Not that it was an exhaustively long list, and if he removed all the things he _shouldn't_ love, then the list was even shorter. But baking was at the top, nonetheless.

His mother had been the one to start the habit. They would bake gingerbread biscuits and fruit cake on the days when the rain poured in buckets down the windows and the light was low. He came to associate it with comfort and warmth and the feeling of _home._ Baking occupied the hands and, more importantly, the mind. Baking was a distraction, and a welcome one.

He had always followed recipes though; he followed them to the letter, and never deviated one gram from the instructions. That was until one rainy day in university, when Simon decided he could no longer bear the itch in his veins and the shakes in his hands. He needed a distraction, and that distraction was baking. He had the wrong ingredients; not enough of the right kind of flour, no baking powder at all and, for some reason, only brown sugar.  

So, Simon made it up. He substituted ingredients and added spices and did all the things you aren’t supposed to do when you’re baking. Despite all odds against them, the cupcakes emerged from the oven, fragrant and golden and _delicious._

He ate cupcakes for tea that night, and watched cooking programmes on the telly.

After that, Simon baked frequently, and often more than he could feasibly eat. But it was so comforting that he occasionally found a batch of biscuits in the oven without even noticing that he'd made them. It was the smell that he enjoyed, more so than the taste, so he still baked, even on those days when he could barely get out of bed and the mere thought of food gave him nausea. He would leave the cookies on a plate on the side in the kitchen with an ‘eat me’ label on the top and go back to bed.

Let's just say, his housemates loved him.

There was one thing though that eluded Simon utterly: presentation.

No matter how hard he begged, cajoled and threatened his bakes, they came out wonky every time. No amount of poorly applied icing could mask the uneven tops. Simple swirls of buttercream were lopsided and oozed down the cupcake wrappers and a batch of tortoise biscuits came out looking like road-kill. Every bake looked more abysmal than the last. It was the straw that broke the camels back for Simon, in the end.

One day, Simon stopped pretending. He put down his piping bag and picked up a needle again.

He didn't look back for a very long time.

***

Kieren Walker was bored, tired and wanted to go home.

It was mid-afternoon and quiet in _Cake Modern_. The rain poured heavily into the gutters and crashed against the roof. It was soothing from inside the warm eatery, but his walk home would be deeply unpleasant.

 Kieren knew that the bell at the primary school across the street would ring in 25 minutes, bringing the daily wave of hungry children with it, but that didn’t stop him being bored _now_. He sketched absently behind the counter- cake designs again- and sighed. His sole co-worker today (only friend too really, but that’s beside the point.) chatted happily to customers as she collected their mugs, and her laughter could only just be heard over the rain. He looked down at yet another page filled with drawings of cake and swirling skirts. One day, he would be able to draw something else. One day he’d be able to _think_ of something else; something not cake.

If he could still eat, he’d be the size of a house by now.

The rain was so loud that he didn’t hear the chime of the door, and was taken aback at the brisk clearing of a throat on the other side of the counter.

“Sorry.” Kieren said, shaking his head to clear it. “Miles away. What can I get you?”

The customer pointed through the case. “One of those purple ones please.” He smiled at Kieren. “A Latte too, thanks.”

Kieren’s first impression of the bloke was that he was PDS, and he wasn’t wearing cover-up. He found himself smiling as he rang up the order, because damn did Kieren wish he had the confidence to pull that off.

“You eating in, or taking away?” Kieren asked, finger poised over the touchscreen front of the till.

After some deliberation, the guy said, “Take away, I think.” but grimaced in the direction of the rain.

“It is pretty foul out there, isn’t it?”

“It most certainly is.” The bloke agreed. Kieren noted that he was Irish too. He swapped the bagged cupcake and the latte for exact change with a “thanks”. As he was about to leave though, the guy hesitated, opened his mouth, closed it again and then asked, “Do I know you? You look really familiar…”

Kieren shrugged “I think I’ve just got one of those faces.”

“That’s probably it.” He smiled “Anyway, thanks.”

“Have a nice day.”

As soon as the door closed, Amy pounced. She appeared from behind him like an overzealous puppy or, alternatively, a starving panther. “Cor, he was a dish an’ a half.” She exclaimed, running to the window and peering out after him, stretching to see around the corner and pressing her nose against the rapidly fogging glass. “I hope you got his number Kieren Walker, because I want to be seeing more of his handsome mug.”

Kieren rolled his eyes. “Yes, I got both his name and number, because that is absolutely the behaviour that gets us repeat customers and Christmas bonuses.”

“Don’t use your sarcasm on me Handsome, he recognised you.” She winked as she sauntered back and plopped herself on top of the counter.

“Not really, he still didn’t know who I was; it doesn’t count as recognising me.”

“Stop being so modest Kieren Walker! If you’d had just _told_ him, he would’ve been kicking himself!”

“Maybe I don’t want to be recognised.” He muttered

“Come to think of it, I think I recognised _him_ from somewhere.”

Kieren looked up. “Where?”

“Dunno.” She shook her head. “He was pretty moregeous though eh?” She nudged Kieren in the side with her elbow. “Eh?”

Kieren merely shrugged, and wiped the counters around Amy. Truth was, Kieren _did_ think the guy was pretty attractive, not necessarily in the face or body but there was something about confidence that Kieren really liked in other people. Sure, the bloke looked sort of shy and uncomfortable, but it takes guts to go barefaced. Kieren admired that.

“Maybe I should try it again.” Amy said, examining her reflection in the shiny countertop, turning her face this way and that and pouting.

“Try what?” Kieren asked, moving his attention to the mess by the coffee machine

“Going ‘au naturale’ of course!”

Kieren whipped around instantly. “Amy, keep your voice down!” He hissed as he peered over the counter at the customers in the shop. None of them had taken any notice.

“Why should I? Freedom of speech an’ all that. Just ‘cause I’m dead doesn’t mean that I don’t matter- that _we_ don’t matter.”

“Do you want to get us sacked?” He muttered, turning nervously back to the coffee machine.

“We’re not gonna change Handsome, we’re stuck like this, they may as well get used to it.” She crossed her arms and stared Kieren down, eyes fierce.

The bell on the door chimed then, bringing with it an influx of harassed parents and very small excited children as well as an end to the conversation. Before she left to collect empty mugs though, Amy gave Kieren a look that told him just how far the conversation was from over, and Kieren wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

He agreed; it was an important conversation worth having, but that was for later. Now was for handing out cupcakes, coffee and smiles.

It wasn’t until much later, when Kieren thought about it properly, that he realised he’d sold a coffee and a cake to a PDS sufferer, and that was pretty odd.

***

After the rising, Simon had picked up baking again.

He blamed The Great British Bake Off, if he was honest. If he'd never watched it by accident one evening in late summer, he probably wouldn’t have given the craft another go.

But, it turned out that baking was sort of like riding a bike (Sort of being the operative word). Simon was still a natural anyway. Even though he could no longer taste his bakes, his new housemates assured him that they were delicious and polished off every batch within hours.

There was a gap in his life again, and baking filled it nicely, so Simon threw himself into it. His enthusiasm bordered on obsession, but Simon had been obsessed with things much more harmful than a bit of flour and egg, so he counted it as a marked improvement and kept going.

There may well have been baked goods coming out of his ears, but he still couldn’t decorate worth a damn.

But he figured that was okay, really.

***

Kieren loved the rain occasionally.

 He loved the rain when it was a thin drizzle, when his nice big umbrella shielded him from the droplets, when it was quiet in the street and he had soft music playing in his ears. Kieren adored that rain.

This, however, was not that rain.

This was the kind of rain that poured straight downwards, bounced off the pavement and landed in your shoes. The kind of rain that came with gale-force winds of the sort that turned your umbrella inside out and blew the rain straight into your face. The kind of rain that would ruin your headphones and ensure the roads were nice and busy.

So, unsurprisingly, Kieren was not enjoying his walk back to his halls of residence.

He was wet and miserable and looked like a drowned puppy. He hugged his portfolio tightly to his chest and moved with his longest strides, breaking into a jog in places. A car turned the corner and sprayed him with a sluice of water from a puddle. The sooner he got back, the better.

It shouldn’t matter though, a fact that Kieren knew deep, _deep_ down, he was PDS after all and it wasn’t like he could actually feel the rain. It was still unpleasant though. He put it down to sense memory, or just wishful thinking. It wasn’t something that ever bothered Amy; she loved downpours like this one. She said they made her feel invincible, but Kieren felt more separated from the living with every drop.

He broke into a loping run when the building loomed into sight, searching through his pockets for his key card. He was still searching for his key card when he reached the door. He buzzed the intercom repeatedly and knocked sharply on the glass of the door. It was just his luck that in a building of 107 people there was not one soul around. _This day couldn’t get any worse_ he thought, sliding down the door and settling down in the slight shelter of the doorway.

His saviour came, 30 minutes later, in the form of a large cardboard box with legs making its way slowly and carefully up the hill.

A face peered around the side of the box and the man called, sympathy colouring his tone. “You locked out?”

Kieren nodded. A flesh toned water droplet fell from the tip of his nose. He looked like a drowned puppy.

“C’mon then, I’ll let you in.”

Kieren got up as the man tried, and failed, to juggle his many belongings.“You need a hand with that?”  He asked, hovering close to the bloke as the box began to tip

The man pushed a carrier at Kieren with some difficulty, produced his key card from his jeans pocket and let them both in.

Inside the hallway it was blissfully dry, and Kieren paused for a second to appreciate it before following the guy to the building’s only lift. In the warm light of the entryway, Kieren could see the bloke’s face properly, and was surprised to find that he recognised it.

“Hey, I know you! You came into my shop the other day!”

“Ah yeah, I guess I did.” He paused. “Sorry, I didn’t realise you were one of us with all that stuff on your face.” He smiled and gestured at the cover-up dripping from Kieren’s face as he struggled with the box that seemed to be… alive?

“What’s in the box?” Kieren asked, curious as they stepped into the lift.

“Nothing.” He replied, a little too quickly. “S’nothing.” As he said it though, the box gave a jolt and a single paw popped out of the hole in the top, letting out a great yowl as it did so.

“Why is there a cat in that box?”

“It’s a project?” He said, uncertainly, and Kieren was sure it wasn’t _supposed_ to sound like a question “For class. Schrödinger’s cat?”

At that exact moment, the lift door opened, the Tesco bag that Kieren was still holding split, spilling six cans of GoCat onto the floor and the cat poked its entire head out of the box. The other guy looked to be at the end of his tether and he just stared at the cat food as it rolled slowly out of the lift and into the hallway.

“There’s a no pet policy here.” Kieren reminded him, trying extremely hard not to laugh, because this should so not be funny.

“I know.” He sighed. “I just found him starving in an alleyway in the rain.” He looked up at Kieren with big sad eyes. “I couldn’t just _leave_ him.” The cat was now trying, and failing, to get its head back inside the box and one of the cans was stuck in the now closed lift door.

This bloke was an absolute mess.

Kieren bit his lip “Look, I’ll help you smuggle him in, okay?” Kieren smiled. “Where do you live?”

The guy’s face lit up with relief. “Thank you.” He said, “I’m just upstairs, flat 6, room 5.”

“Get his head back in the box, and I’ll get those cans.”

“I’m Simon, by the way.” The guy blurted out.

Kieren turned back and smiled. “I’m Kieren and we should probably get going before someone needs to use the lift.”

*******

They got the cat past Simon’s housemates, somehow. They seemed to be too interested in Kieren to even notice the yowling box; Simon apparently had very few friends. Kieren wasn’t sure what to make of that.

His room was dark and tidier than Kieren was expecting, since Simon himself seemed to be a bit of a mess. But his bed was made and his books stacked neatly, although they littered every available surface. Kieren dumped the cat food tins onto the desk while Simon placed the box on the bed. The two men stared at it for a moment, neither making a move to do anything. The box yowled and rocked feebly.

“Maybe you should let the cat out of the bag?” Kieren said, and Simon gave him a filthy look, but took a deep breath and stepped slowly toward the box as though it might explode.

“Here goes nothing, I suppose.”  Simon pulled the box lid apart and Kieren would definitely have used the word “explosion” to describe what happened next. Before either of them could blink, the cat had dashed up the curtains and sat on the curtain-rail, hissing. It was a grubby little brown thing, which could’ve been ginger if it wasn’t so muddy. Its eyes were huge though, and Kieren could see immediately why Simon hadn’t been able to leave it in that alley.

“This is going to be so _fun_.” Kieren muttered, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Hey, you can leave if you want, she’s in here, you’ve done what you said you were going to.”

“Nah, I’m invested now.” He said, ripping the top off the nearest cat food can. “Where do you keep your bowls?”

***

It took them ages to coax the little cat off the curtain rail.

They prodded at it with a meter ruler, waved cat food under its nose, bribed it with bowls of milk and, on one traumatic occasion, stood on a chair in an attempt to remove it with force. But the cat clung steadfast to its curtain rail, hissing and spitting at Simon and Kieren.

It was only when they turned away, intent on planning an alternative strategy and leaving the bowl of cat food on the desk, that they won their battle with the kitten. When they turned back, the little thing had its head buried so deep into the bowl that Kieren couldn’t believe that it was still able to breathe.

They gave her a quick bath in the sink of Simon’s tiny en suite and dried her off with an old towel. She seemed much happier, clean and dry with a few more bowls of cat food in her. She was ever so thin and turned out to be a ginger tabby under all that mud. She curled up quietly on Simon’s pillow, purring gently as the two men watched her curiously.

 “What you gonna call her?” Kieren had asked, after they had sat in silence for long enough to be awkward

“Dunno.” He paused. “You had any ideas?”

“Not really. Just don’t call her something stupid like Ginger or Fluffy.”

“Yeah, she definitely needs a cool name.” he stroked a knuckle across the top of her head. “I’ll think of something.”

Kieren had left the kitten in Simon’s capable hands, and returned to his own flat.

In the safety of his room, he sat on his bed and considered Simon. He seemed like a nice bloke, if a little odd and a little intense. He liked him though. In fact, Kieren could tell that it wouldn’t take long for him to begin harbouring a serious crush on this guy.Once he got past his embarrassment at his brain saying ‘ _crush’_ as if he was a bloody primary school child, the idea wasn’t unwelcome. Kieren hadn’t fancied anyone since, well, Rick, and he imagined his feelings towards Simon, insignificant as they were right now, were probably a good sign that he wasn’t broken, or something.

Kieren sighed and flopped back on his bed, reaching for the remote and switching on the telly. A repeat of that week’s Great British Bake Off popped up on the screen. Kieren blanched, turned the telly straight back off and, exhausted, fell asleep in his clothes.

In the room immediately above him, Simon Monroe too switched on the TV, and too found himself faced with the repeat of The Great British Bake Off. Simon, however, did not switch off the telly. He instead stared in horror at the screen.

 _“Of course I’m chuffed! Star Baker on Bread Week, that’s all anyone really wants innit.”_ Said the familiar northern voice with a dimpled smile. “ _I’m absolutely chuffed to bits!”_

“Well, Fuck.” Simon said to the little kitten curled up on his lap.

Simon had worked out where he recognised Kieren from.

His hero was living in the room below him, and he hadn’t even realised.

“Shit.” He exclaimed, and the kitten glared at him.

***

Kieren had filled in the application for The Great British Bake Off on a whim one rainy afternoon.

He was a good baker and a fantastic decorator, and his family had been pressuring him to give it a go for a while. _Why not?_ He thought. _What have I got to lose?_

He hadn’t expected anything to come of it, because PDS sufferers just didn’t appear on telly, unless it was the 6’Oclock news or adverts. But he had surprised everyone, especially himself, when he passed every round of auditions. He didn’t believe the congratulations letter when it came. So much so that Jem had had to read it aloud to him,because things like that didn’t happen to people like Kieren; they just didn’t.

On his first day, he had been spectacularly and overwhelmingly nervous.

He felt the weight of every PDS sufferer in the country relying on him to do well, which he knew in his heart of hearts was ridiculous, but partly true. He was the first person with PDS on a show like this and he could undo a lot of misconceptions about his kind if he played his cards right. But he couldn’t taste his bakes, couldn’t feel for their consistency, couldn’t smell them if they burnt in the ovens. Surely he had no hope in hell of even placing in a _baking_ competition of all things.

But against all odds, he did great.

And it wasn’t until the first episode aired that Kieren realised what the reception would be.

Everyone _loved_ him.

The Partially Deceased loved him because of what he represented. He was the first undead contestant on what had previously been a very living-centric programme and absolutely the perfect man for the job.Half of the living loved him because he was adorable and the sweetest bloke ever and the other half of the living loved to hate him; the British have always liked having something to complain about, after all.

He was an inspiration to PDS sufferers everywhere, and Kieren was both glad and absolutely fucking terrified.

So, when Simon turned on the telly to watch episode one of the new series of his favourite programme that Wednesday in early August, he was shocked to see someone like him on the screen. He loved him immediately. Kieren was innocent and charming and cute and an amazing baker, despite all the limitations their kind faced.

He watched, rapt, as Kieren presented the kinds of bakes that Simon dreamed of producing, perfectly iced, beautifully designed and carefully executed. He loved Kieren and he rooted for him so strongly it was almost a physical pain.

It was hero worship, and Simon knew it. But again, it was innocuous, and it wasn’t drugs or destructive extremist groups. It was just one cute little uni student from up north who didn’t even know he existed, and where was the harm in that?

That was until the very large issue arose of Kieren living in the same damn building as him.

And then, well, then it wasn’t so harmless anymore.

***

They didn’t see each other for two weeks after the cat incident.

That wasn’t at all because Simon had been avoiding him- that would be ridiculous. He certainly didn’t dive around corners or into toilet stalls or behind bookshelves when he bumped into Kieren and his friends on campus. And he most definitely didn’t peer over said bookshelves in order to steal glimpses.

No, that would be creepy. And weird. And _creepy_.

Simon was the height of coolness, he was Mister Sophisticated and he was smooth.

So he didn’t let out an involuntary squeak when Kieren managed to sneak up on him in the library, because he was as cool as the proverbial cucumber; cooler, in fact.

“You okay?” Kieren asked, frowning minutely at the frightened girly squeal that most certainly didn’t come from Simon’s mouth.

“Yup, I’m, er, great. Super great, um. Yeah.” Simon said, like a fucking dork. Kieren raised an eyebrow. “You just startled me. A bit”This was a hell of a lot easier when he wasn’t Simon’s idol.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you, just thought I’d ask about the little kitten? I haven’t had a chance to catch up with you, and I was wondering how she’s doing.”

Simon wished he could be that smooth. “Yeah, she’s good actually, er, she’s pretty great.”

“Good.” Kieren gave a dazzling smile that almost knocked the breath right out of Simon’s lungs. “Does she have a name yet?”

“Yeah, its, um, it’s Helena.” He didn’t mention where the name came from, because it was a stupid idea anyway, and he was trying to look cool.

“Oh, cool, like in Orphan Black?”

“Yeah, that’s actually where I got it from.” He rubbed at the injector hole at the base of his neck, a nervous tick that he should really stop doing.

“I like it, I think it suits her.” Kieren said

At that moment, Kieren’s friend sidled up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing him hard enough to hurt a living person. He rolled his eyes at her, but squeezed back anyway. Simon watched the exchange, completely not jealous, because there was nothing to be jealous of. Kieren was just a friend, and nothing more, which was why Simon didn’t want to hit the girl around the head with a book.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Handsome?” She asked, staring at Simon with what could only be described as bedroom eyes.

Kieren looked like he wanted to bash his head repeatedly on the nearest bookshelf. “Amy, this is Simon. Simon, this is Amy Dyer.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Simon.” Amy purred shaking his outstretched hand for longer than strictly necessary.

“It’s nice to meet you too?”

“And with that, it’s time we were off.” Kieren said, pushing Amy down the aisle and ignoring her shouts of protest with a look of utter mortification on his face. “I’m sorry about her; I don’t know why we let her out in public.”

“It’s fine by me, she seems…”

“Manic?” Kieren filled in for him

“I was going to go with nice, but that too I suppose.”

The two men grinned at each other until Amy’s very quiet rendition of ‘Kiss the Girl’ from the next aisle over broke Kieren out of it.

“I’m sorry.” He said with a sigh, “I have to go and MURDER someone, but I wanted to give you this.” He handed Simon a little crumpled scrap of paper with a phone number and a smiley face on it. “Y’know, just in case you need any help with Helena, or something.”

“Thanks, I’ll text you later?”

“Great.” He grinned and waved. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

As the two figures retreated, “He’s _morgeous_ Kieren Walker” wafted through the stacks, followed by a hasty hissed “ _Amy keep your voice down!_ ”

Simon shook his head with a slow smile.

Maybe they were both as smooth as each other.

***

In the kitchen of _Cake Modern_ , Kieren iced cakes and texted Simon under the worktop. 80 cakes and 90 biscuits sat on the counter in neat lines. It was 5.30 AM, a crisp sunny morning outside and Kieren had almost finished his shift.

Today was going to be a great day. He could just feel it.

He texted Simon a quick _my shifts over in 30 mins, free all day, wanna meet up?_  And piped teacups onto earl grey biscuits. It was quiet in the bakery today, all the bread and pastries for the morning crowd had been laid out, and his boss, Catherine, tapping at her keyboard in the back room kept the silence at bay. His phone buzzed with Simons reply.

_I’ve got a lecture at 4.00, but other than that I’m free, when and where? X_

_Its a nice day, park at 10?x_

_Great, see you then! X_

Today was going to be a _really_ great day.

The bakery door swung open and Amy shuffled in, yawning as she locked it again.

“It’s too early for this crap.” She exclaimed, collapsing into the chair next to Kieren, leaning her head against his shoulder and yawning again.

“If you don’t want the extra work, Amy, I’m sure I can find someone else.” Catherine called from her office.

“I love mornings; they’re my favourite time of day. Getting up at 5.00 is the highlight of my week, Catherine, and I am offended that you would suggest otherwise.” Amy said, the effect ruined by the particularly violent yawn that followed. She turned to Kieren. “I don’t know _how_ you manage it, I really don’t.”

Kieren shrugged. “What can I say, I’m a morning person.”

“You disgust me.” She paused and studied Kieren’s face properly. “Well, aren’t you all smiley this morning!” She said with a grin. When he didn’t comment, she pushed her face right under his, blocking him from the work surface.

“It’s just a nice day today, that’s all.” Amy raised her eyebrows at him and crossed her arms. Kieren sighed deeply. “I’m meeting up with Simon later.” He conceded.

Amy clapped her hands together excitedly. “Oooh, are you two a thing now?”

“Course not.” He said, “I’ve known him for two weeks.”

“But you want it to be a thing though, right?” She poked him in the side.

Kieren ducked his head and considered lying, but couldn’t be bothered, not on a day as nice as this.  “Yeah.” He swallowed. “I like him. A lot.”

“If you two don’t stop talking about boys in there, I’m docking both your pay.” Catherine yelled, only partly joking.

Amy saluted the office. “Ma’am yes ma’am.” She exclaimed before winking at Kieren and flipping the sign on the front door from ‘closed’ to ‘open’.

Kieren finished his last biscuit, shucked on his jacket and left the bakery, whistling.

Today was going to be great.

***

The weather only got lovelier, and Kieren sat with his back against a tree trunk and a sketchbook resting on his upthrust knees. Simon checked his watch as he ambled over to the tree but he wasn’t late, if anything, he was early. When Kieren spotted him, his face lit up and Simon almost missed a step; he didn’t though, he was too smooth for that, after all.

“Hiya.” Kieren exclaimed, that grin never once faltering.

“Hi.” Simon smiled back as he plopped himself down next to him. “What’re you drawing?”

Kieren tilted the sketchbook so Simon could see. “Just some observational sketches.”

The page was filled with people. Some were walking, some jogging, some laughing and all hastily rendered with minimal linesbut still managing to capture the essence. They were wonderful and Simon added drawing to the steadily expanding mental repertoire of skills Kieren had.

“These are really great.” He told Kieren

He shrugged, but still ducked his head at the complement. “Thank you; they’re just sketches, though.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Kieren kept his head ducked and carried on drawing. “Thanks.”

Simon watched him sketch in companionable silence for a while before asking “I take it you’re in art then?”

Kieren looked up. “Yeah, uh, Fine art, with Doctor Willis.” Simon nodded. He’d heard of him, perhaps the head of visual arts? He wasn’t sure. Kieren smiled at him. “What about you? What do you study?”

“I’m in MA English lit.”

Kieren blinked a little. “Oh. That’s cool.”

“I’ve surprised you?”

“Oh no, it’s just, I wouldn’t have put you in English, that’s all.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. “Ah, and where would you have put me then?”

He sighed “God, I dunno, Philosophy or politics or something. Not lit.”

That startled Simon, he didn’t realise that was the impression that he was giving off. “Why’s that?” he asked, curious.

Kieren was beginning to look like he wished he hadn’t said anything. “I guess.” He paused. “You just seem like you have lots of opinions about stuff, Y’know?” Simon tilted his head slightly and frowned, confused. “It’s just, you don’t wear cover-up, and you don’t wear contacts and you look like the kind of person who campaigns against the living.” He took one look at Simons face, and held up his hands. “Not that I’m saying that’s a _bad_ thing, that’s just the impression I get from you, no offence intended.” He looked down at his hands in his lap.

“I’ve toned down the politics a lot actually.  I used to be much worse.”

“What changed?”

“There was a… circumstance. It changed my views a bit.”

Kieren, taking the vague reply as his queue, changed the subject. “So, what brings you to the wonderful world on university? You must be older than most here…”

“This is sort of my second time around; I did most of my BA after sixth form, but I dropped out two weeks before the end.”

Kieren raised his eyebrows at him, incredulous “ _why?_ ”

 “Drugs.” He said frankly with a shrug

Kieren nodded, but didn’t comment, a fact that Simon found refreshing “How come they let you do your masters, if you didn’t finish your BA?”

“I’d done enough, I’d handed it all in, just didn’t get the qualification.”

“Well that was stupid.”

Simon stretched his arms outwards “Why do you think I’m here?” He smiled “It was really stupid, but I’m fixing it.”

Kieren smiled back “good for you.”

“What about you? You had to be, what? Nineteen when you died? This your first time at uni?”

“I was eighteen, supposed to start here that year. I killed myself instead, which looking back, wasn’t the best choice.”

“You too?” Simon asked, pulling up his sweatshirt sleeve and offering his forearm to Kieren.

Kieren mirrored the action, still smiling. The two placed their arms next to each other and compared scars.

“Why did you do it?” Kieren asked after a moment

“Horrifically depressed, I had been forever really. Life was utterly meaningless, didn’t see the point in carrying on.” He pulled his jumper back over his wrist. “What about you?”

“I was depressed too, dealing alright with it I guess, but then the boy I loved died in Afghanistan and I just… wanted to disappear.” He shrugged. “I didn’t even really think about it.”

Simon hadn’t ever felt so comfortable talking about his death. Kieren just seemed to pull things out of him as easily as if he had merely asked for the time.

“Do you regret it?” Simon asked, because he’d always found that kind of answer fascinating.

“Absolutely.” Kieren said without hesitation. “If I’d thought about what it’d do to my family, I never would’ve done it. Never ever. As it stands, I didn’t and all that’s left is to try and pick up the pieces.” He smiled softly. “Do you regret it?”

Simon shrugged again. “I don’t know, really. Knowing what I know now, I doubt I’d have bothered. But I can’t say I’m not happier now than I ever was then. It’s a difficult one.”

 “It’s interesting though. To hear other peoples thoughts, how they think about their deaths.”

“Now who sounds like the philosopher.” Simon teased, poking Kieren in the knee.

“Oh shush, you know what I mean.” He prodded him back, this time in the shoulder, almost pushing him to the floor.

Laughing, the two men slapped and kicked at each other, squealing like children. They ended up lying on their backs in the grass, giggling breathlessly.

Simon turned to look at Kieren while he was distracted. An onlooker may have described Simon’s facial expression as ‘reverent’.

 At some point, one of Simon’s hits must have found purchase on his face, because the cover-up on his cheek was smudged to hell. A little bit of the real Kieren peeked through the mousse, and Simon thought that he was more beautiful than anyone else in the world.

***

“Oh my god I am so jealous!” Kieren said, laughter in his voice.

“What? Really?” Simon asked.

“God yeah, I’d give anything to be able to smell again.”

“It’s not that great.”

“I work in a bakery, Simon; I would give anything to smell.”

“Yeah but I’ve got two words for you. Public. Transport.”

Kieren laughed, hearty and loud and wondered what they must look like to an onlooker, two undead men in varying degrees of smudged cover-up mousse, passing a flask of coffee back and forth and shoving it under their noses. He then realised that he didn’t give a shit, he was having fun, screw them all.

“Does it really smell that good?” Kieren asked, taking another futile sniff at the brown liquid

“Yeah.” He smiled. “It smells like home.” He looked wistfully down at the surface.

Kieren wanted to ask more about Simon’s home, but there was something in the bloke’s face that stopped him. Simon would tell him when he was ready to, he was sure. “Okay, so that explains the coffee.” he said “But you bought a cake from me too.”

“Um.” Simon rubbed at his injector hole. “That’s a little embarrassing…”

Kieren noticed quite how near he and Simon had drifted in the last few hours, and shuffled back to lean against the tree again. “Can’t be that bad.”

“I bake.” He said and Kieren tried to suppress his surprise, because he had not pegged Simon for a baker. “I’m a pretty good baker actually, but I am a truly _awful_ decorator.”

“Now, I don’t believe that for a second.”

Simon fiddled with his phone, and wordlessly presented Kieren with the screen. Kieren couldn’t keep the bark of laughter at bay, and clapped his hands over his mouth to stop his giggles bubbling out. He frowned and moved his face closer to the phone. “Are those-”

“Biscuits? Yes”

He pointed. “And that’s-”

“Icing? Yup.”

“How? Just…” He opened his mouth and closed it again. “How?”

“I’m a really, _really_ terrible decorator.” Simon said with a shrug, locking his phone and putting it back in his pocket. “I thought I could deconstruct your cupcake, see how it was decorated, try to recreate it- it, er, it didn’t work.”

Kieren stared in horror at the poor man. He couldn’t imagine being _that_ terrible at decorating. He came to a decision in that moment, sat up straight and looked Simon in the face.

“I.” he said, “Am going to teach you cake decorating if it kills me.” Simon looked like he was about to object, so Kieren put a finger out to silence him. “No arguments.” Simon opened his mouth again, but shut it abruptly when he found his lips covered by Kieren’s finger. “No. You’re doing me a favour really, I cannot allow that level of terrible decorating to continue in my town. I just- you’re ruining my reputation just by existing, Simon!”

When Simon finally stopped looking like he was going to argue, Kieren took his finger away and grinned in a slightly unsettling manner. Simon couldn’t help but return the smile. “Okay.” Simon said

“Great!” Kieren exclaimed. “My flat, 8.30, this Friday, I will teach you everything I know.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Kieren carried on grinning as he thought just how much this day had lived up to his expectations.

This was going to be so much fun.

He just hoped Simon knew what he had let himself in for.

***

At 8.24 on Friday night, Simon found himself in front of flat 5, clutching a Sainsbury’s bag of ingredients and his apron. Kieren opened the door with a wide smile almost instantly, as though he had been waiting by the door for his knock. He was already wearing his own apron (A pale pink monstrosity with bright blue flowers and a rickrack trim that he totally pulled off with dignity, somehow) and had managed to smudge flour across his cheek.

“Good evening!” Kieren said, opening the door properly. “Come on in.”

Simon followed Kieren down a corridor identical to his own and into a kitchen a hell of a lot tidier than the one upstairs, but the overflowing state of the rubbish bin suggested that wasn’t normally the case; Kieren had been busy.

“Don’t other people need to use the kitchen?” Simon asked, staring apprehensively at the countertop filled with what must be every piece of decorating equipment Kieren owned.

Kieren waved him off. “Nah.  Nearly 9 on a Friday night? They’re all doing other stuff.”

Simon made his way around the counter and joined Kieren on the other side. There were 18 different piping tips laid in a neat row. Simon didn’t even know they made that many.

“Besides.” He continued, “We’re making cake and it’s not like we can eat ‘em, what’ve they really got to complain about?”

That was true. Simon really missed being able to eat sometimes. “So, where do we start?”

“We need to whip up a batch of cupcakes first. But that shouldn’t take too long right?”

Simon nodded. That was easy enough, he could do that bit. “Okay.”

“You measure, I’ll mix?”

“Sure.” Simon said, and reached for the sugar.

***

Simon and Kieren worked well together in the kitchen. Of course, there were debates about technique and measurements and general snarking about aprons (Simon’s apron was red with cats on it, which amused Kieren probably more than it should. But his apron was awful too, and no amount of “Amy made it for me” could make up for that). He decided to trust Simon’s knowledge and the cakes came out fluffier than he’d ever made himself, which showed what Kieren knew. They made icing while the cakes cooled.

“Okay, tell me how you make buttercream normally, and we can figure out what’s wrong.” Kieren said, handing the glass bowl over to Simon.

“Icing sugar and margarine.” He said.

“Okay.” Kieren said slowly, “That’s a start. How much?”

“I sort of do it by eye I guess.”  

“But you still measure it, right?”

“No?”

Kieren blinked at him, put a hand to his head and muttered something like ‘give me strength’. When he looked up, Simon was smiling sheepishly. “No wonder your icing doesn’t work, Simon.”

“What if I was to tell you that I didn’t actually look at the scales when I was measuring the ingredients earlier.” Simon said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the oven with a facial expression that could only be called smug.

“What?” Kieren asked, horrified.

“I didn’t measure the ingredients. I dumped in what looked right and ran with it.”

“But you have to measure. That’s it. That’s all baking is. It’s measuring. That’s- that’s the most important bit! You can’t skip it. You can’t!”

“But I can, and I did.” Simon said and Kieren looked like his entire world was falling apart. “They worked didn’t they? Look at them, they’re perfect.”

Kieren had to concede; they were perfect. They were far more perfect than Kieren’s ever looked, and he’d been on The Great British bloody Bake Off for god’s sakes. He took a deep breath. “Okay.” He had an idea “What if I show you what it’s supposed to look like, so you can guess better when you’re on your own?”

Simon’s shoulders relaxed slightly and he nodded. “That sounds perfect.”

“Right.” Kieren began, “I use 200 grams of icing sugar, which looks like this.”

And yes, this was totally alien to Kieren, who had learnt that measuring everything to the last gram was the key to a successful bake, but he was adaptable. If this was how Simon learnt, then this was how he would teach him.

That was fine, he could deal with that.

***

“How?” Kieren asked, utterly perplexed, and more than a little impressed, at the scene in front of him.

“I dunno!” Simon wailed, staring down at the mess of icing clinging to his work surface. Kieren was awe-struck at how someone could fuck-up so badly at icing a cake.

“I turned my back for one second.” Kieren muttered, staring in fascination at the abomination. He supposed that some of the icing _had_ made its way onto the cake. He told Simon as much.

“Yeah, but the majority of it didn’t.” He picked up the cake and the remaining icing plopped off the top of the cake and back onto the counter to join the rest of Simon’s icing.

“How are you so bad at this?” Kieren looked up at Simon “How?”

“I have no idea.”

“Maybe we should start simpler.” He carefully took the piping bag from Simon before the glob of icing at the tip could fall on the floor. “Let’s just do some white water icing.”

Simon nodded. “Okay.”

In no time, Kieren had whipped up a batch of white icing and shown Simon just how it was done. There was no way you could go wrong with water icing- he’d done this with his five year old cousin and it was fine, he was sure a grown man wouldn’t have a problem.

Kieren was, of course, completely wrong. Simon still found a way to fuck it up.

The two men stared at the blob of icing on the kitchen cabinet as it slowly oozed down to head height.

“How?” Kieren all but shouted. “That’s behind you. How did you manage to flick the icing _behind_ you?”

Simon, who had been banging his head repeatedly on the cupboard door, looked up with the saddest eyes Kieren had ever seen. “I told you.” He wailed, “I can’t do it.”

Kieren softened. “Of course you can, it’ll just take practice. We’ll stop now, and come back to it another day. How’s that sound?”

Simon sat down on a counter stool with a huff. “That sounds good.”

“Want some coffee?”

He blinked once, surprised. “Yes please.” He said with a small smile

Kieren popped on the kettle and grabbed the tub of Nescafé from someone else’s cupboard. He doubted the owner would mind too much, Kieren had pitched in for milk money enough times to have earned a couple of spoons of instant coffee. Whatever the price, it was worth it to see Simon’s face light up when the smell wafted in his direction.

***

Kieren’s bedroom was somehow exactly what Simon was expecting. It screamed ‘Art student lives here’.

Barely any white showed through the hundreds of paintings, drawings and sketches plastered to the walls. Empty jam jars filled with paint water, paint brushes, pencils or sharpies littered his desk and shelves. An easel sat in the corner, a half-finished drawing of Simon was taped to the wood.

Simon stepped towards the easel, but stopped and turned to Kieren “Mind if I...?” He gestured to the drawing .

“Knock yourself out.” Kieren said, flopping onto the bed.

Simon stepped close and bent down to inspect the image. The likeness was good, even without all of the shading done. _So that’s what I look like when I’m happy,_ Simon thought.

“We had to draw someone we’d never drawn before for our last assignment.” Kieren explained. “I chose you.”

Simon turned around with a smile “S’good.” He said. He spun slowly, looking briefly at all the pictures on the walls, taking them all in. “They’re all really good. I’d love to be able to draw.”

“You probably can.” Kieren said with a shrug. “It took a hell of a lot of practice to get this far. You just need to keep at it.”

“You really believe that?”

“Yeah, why not? It’s still something that needs to be learned, it just comes in a different form to maths or science or whatever.”

Simon just shrugged.

“Think of it like cake decorating.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that went so well.”

Kieren frowned. “You just need to practice Simon.”

Simon took a seat on the bed across from Kieren, clutching his mug of coffee with both hands. He caught sight of the painting that hung above the door; a sombre portrait of a young man. It must have held some sort of significance, being the only painting on that stretch of wall. Simon, curious, asked about it.

Kieren seemed taken aback for a second, but shook himself out of it. “I’d forgotten that was there, actually” He lied, “That’s Rick Macy.”

“Oh.” Realisation dawned on Simons face. “That’s the boy that died?”

Kieren nodded. “Yeah”

Simon looked at the painting, really properly looked. It was an older piece, before Kieren had had any official training. It was beautiful though; there was such emotion and depth in the brush strokes.

“He looks… content.” Simon said, still staring up at the portrait.

“He was sad a lot.” He said with a small sad smile of his own. “But he was happy when he was with me. Properly happy, not fake happy for his dad.”

“What was he like?”

Kieren turned and inspected Simon’s face, looking for something there. Whatever it was, he must have found it because he nodded once, quick and sharp, before flopping backwards onto his bed with a sigh.

“He was a total dick when you first met him. Asshole, football nut, ladies man; one of the lads.” His voice took on a wistful air. “But that was just in front of his dad. He was really more of the ‘stroke every cat you see on the way home from school’ type.”

“Man after my own heart.” Simon said, and Kieren barked a laugh.

“Speaking of, how is Helena?” Kieren asked, propping himself up on one elbow so that he could see Simon properly.

“She’s doing really great, actually.  She’s so big now” Simon stretched his hands out to indicate the kitten’s length. “She wouldn’t fit in that box anymore.”

Kieren shook his head fondly. “You are _such_ a crazy cat man.”

“Hey!” Simon cried, mock offended. “I’m not that bad!”

Kieren only stared pointedly at the apron that Simon was still wearing. The repeating pattern of various coloured tabbies didn’t do much to help his case.

“It’s a well-known fact that one may _only_ achieve Crazy Cat Lady status when one has five or more cats.”

“ _five!_ ”

Simon nodded solemnly. “Yes, so I have a little way to go yet. Just you wait, I will one day become Crazy Cat Simon.”

“You might have trouble hiding any more than one from your housemates.”

“One day, they will be mine.”

“Whatever you say, Simon.” He laughed. “Whatever you say”

“You’ll have to come and visit her at some point, I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

“Is that an invitation?”

Simon smiled. “Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” Kieren grinned.

“Okay.”

***

It was a slow day again at the bakery, and Kieren and Amy stood behind the counter, resting their heads on their folded arms and staring morosely at the door.

“I don’t know how to help him Amy. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Aw, he can’t be _that_ bad.”

“He iced ten cakes and only one of them actually got iced.”

Amy turned to look at him, brows furrowed with confusion.

“The rest of the icing ended up on the counter, and halfway up the walls.”

“Okay, that is quite bad.” She conceded, “He just needs to learn control.”

“How do I do that? He’s a 30year old man for god’s sake.”

Amy sat back on her stool. “When I was in sixth form, our textiles teacher gave us these little paper templates with lines on, and we had to show we could sew over them before we were allowed to use the sewing machines without her peering over our shoulders for the whole lesson.”

“But he’s not learning to be a seamstress, Amy.”

Amy smacked him around the back of the head. “That’s not what I’m sayin’ Dumdum.”

“What _are_ you saying?” He asked, rubbing the back of his head

“Draw some simple shapes on paper, give him a piping bag, and have him draw over them. He’ll be a natural in no time.”

“It’s a bit…” Kieren paused, looking for the right word. “Primary school.” He said finally.

“I think you’re gonna have to go primary school on this Handsome, he’ll never learn otherwise.”

He sighed “You’re right, as always.” He too sat up, and looked at her. “Y’know, you can be rather wise when you put your mind to it.”

Amy placed her chin on her open hands and blinked rapidly. “I try.”

Kieren spent the rest of the day concocting a scheme and being annoyingly distracted by work. By the end of his shift at 5.00, Kieren had a plan to implement. As he walked home, he texted Simon.

_Mine, 8.00, this fri, baking session no. 2? x_

Simon’s reply came after he had reached his flat and flopped onto his bed

_Great! I’ll see you then xx_

Kieren grinned at his phone like a loon. He had a portraiture assignment due the day after next which he should probably start, but he had tomorrow for that; now, he was busy.

He had planning to do.

***

Kieren tossed open the door with a manic grin plastered to his face.

Simon took an involuntary step back.

Kieren stepped out of the door and pulled him roughly inside by the elbow.

“Hi Simon, how are you doing today, oh I’m very well thanks for asking Kieren” Simon mumbled as Kieren towed him down the hallway and into the kitchen.

“Shh, there’s no time for pleasantries Simon! I have had _the_ best idea.”

The smell of freshly baked cakes wafted from the kitchen and a Cadbury’s Roses tin sat on the counter. A sign on the top proclaimed _do not open, spider inside_ in Kieren’s messy scrawl. Simon frowned at it, and turned to Kieren questioningly.

“What? I had to keep that lot from eating them somehow.” He said with a shrug, picking up the tin and taking it over to the small table in the corner. Laid neatly out on the surface were two piping bags, two sheets of paper, a packet of ready to roll icing, a rolling pin, a pencil case and a round biscuit cutter. Simon had no idea what was going on.

“What’s going on” Simon asked, hesitantly sitting at the seat across from Kieren.

“Your problem is control.” Kieren handed Simon an icing bag and one of the sheets of paper. “You need to learn to control the icing.”

“So what is this?”

“It’s an exercise in control. You pipe over the templates with the icing and work your way up to the more complicated shapes.”

Simon frowned, but Kieren had such hope in his little face, that Simon couldn’t bear to disappoint him. “Okay.” He said and turned to the sheet of paper. When he looked up, Kieren was grinning widely at his own worksheet and Simon felt a little fuzzy warm sense of pride at putting that smile there.

He wielded the piping bag cautiously and piped a careful straight line over the first pencil mark. It was quite a bit wobbly- not as straight and clean as Kieren’s had come out- but it was the best thing he had ever piped. He smiled delightedly and continued with the next three straight lines, slowly getting cleaner.

“Hey, that’s great!” Kieren exclaimed as he peered at Simon’s sheet.

Simon kept going, and before long, he had completed the entire sheet. He placed his offering next to Kieren’s and sure, they weren’t as professional looking or elegant, but they were _Simons_. The sense of accomplishment he felt was probably stupid (It wasn’t like he’d managed anything big at all, just a few wonky lines on a sheet of paper) but he couldn’t help it.

“Well, that went better than I thought it would.” Simon admitted, rubbing at his injector hole.

“It certainly did! You did good.” Kieren grinned and Simon sensed that fuzzy pride again.

“So what’s next on your magical decorating crash course?”

“I was thinking about things that you’d be able to do if you’re feeling really terrible and you just wanna bake, but you just can’t face decorating, and I came up with this.” He plonked the icing and cutter into the middle of the table. “We cut little circles out of the icing and I’ve got” he opened the pencil case and tipped a handful of pens out. “These edible food pens. So you can draw on the top of the icing and stick it on top of the cake and I should be eas-” He broke off when he peered up at Simon. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Simon was giving him that reverent stare again. It was probably a little disconcerting.

“It’s just- you’re incredible Kieren.”

Kieren blanched. “I’m really not.”

“You are.” Simon insisted.

“I’m just a guy tryin to help his mate out; I’m not the messiah Simon.”

“I know, it’s just…” He struggled for the words. “never mind.” He shook his head “ignore me, carry on.”

Kieren eyed him warily, but continued nonetheless.

By the end of the evening, Simon had decorated a dozen cakes, and they actually looked alright. Kieren was absolutely delighted with his progress, and insisted that Simon take his own upstairs, so that his housemates could eat something that looked as good as it tasted for once.

And Simon knew it was stupid. This was _primary school_ stuff; he should be able to decorate a bloody cake without needing templates and edible pens. But that didn’t stop the glowing sense of pride he felt at his housemates faces when he placed the cakes in front of them later that evening.

Maybe Simon could do this after all

***

 _Cake Modern_ was in the middle of the midweek midmorning rush when Simon popped by after a lecture. Kieren saw him the second he walked through the door and signalled for him to come over. Simon carefully negotiated the queue and made his way to the counter.

“We’re completely rushed off our feet” Kieren said. He handed a paper bag to a customer. “Thank you, have a nice day.” He turned back to Simon. “Can you wait a bit?”

 “Kieren we’re out of mugs!” Amy yelled from the coffee machine. Kieren bit back a curse.

“Course” Simon said, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

He wanted to tell Simon that they were fine, and to take a seat in the back and Kieren would be with him in a bit, but the queue was getting longer by the minute, and he was having difficulty coping. In the end, Kieren didn’t have to make that decision.

“Simon, make yourself useful and grab the mugs out of the dishwasher, there’s a good chap”

Simon didn’t argue with Amy, and disappeared into the kitchen.

For the next twenty minutes, Kieren could think of nothing but the steady influx of customers. When there was finally a lull, he was ready to flop onto the counter and do nothing for a few hours. Instead, he made his way into the kitchen where Simon was filling the dishwasher.

“You didn’t need to do that, Simon.”

Amy strolled into the kitchen with three empty trays balanced on her hands. “Yes he did Handsome, we were drowning.”

“ _Amy_.”  Kieren hissed.

“S’not a problem.” He shrugged. “I wanted to help.”

“See, it all worked out okay in the end.” She patted Kieren on the cheek and made her way back to the counter.

He hung his head in his hands. “That woman will be the death of me I swear.” He dragged his hands down his face. “Thank you so much for your help Simon.”

“Hey, it’s the least I could do.”

“Well thanks anyway. We owe you one.”

Amy strolled back in. “We’ll talk to Catherine when she gets back about adding him to the payroll.”

“ _Amy.”_ Kieren hissed again, drawing out the ‘a’. “You can’t just decide things for people without _talking_ to them about it first!”

She turned to Simon. “Do you need a job?”

Simon rubbed the base of his neck. “I could use the money.” He admitted apologetically.

“That’s settled then.” She dusted her hands together and left the room, effectively halting further argument.

“Would you like a job here Simon?” Kieren asked, giving in finally and flopping onto a stool. “Don’t just say yes because of Amy.”

“You know what Kieren, I think I would.” Simon said with a smile, taking the stool opposite.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s a bakery, I’m a baker, why would I not want a job here?”

Kieren considered that. “I dunno.” He said finally

“Are you sure you _want_ me working here? This is your space- I don’t want to, um, intrude, or anything.”

“I’d love it if you could work here, Simon.” Kieren said, because it was true. The more he saw of Simon, the better. He decided not to examine that thinking too closely, because it probably said something about him that he was not ready to hear just yet.

Simon nodded. “Okay.”

“You two are adorable!” Amy called, taking the time to smoosh both Kieren and Simon’s cheeks on her way through. “I want to gobble you up!”

Simon looked a little taken aback.

“You get used to it.” Kieren said.

He didn’t reply, just stared in the direction Amy had left in with a frown.

“Did you have reason for coming, or were you just popping in?”

He shook his head, as if to clear it “Yeah, actually.” He swallowed. “I was wondering if you’d like to come over and, um, watch Bake Off with me tonight?”

It was Kieren’s turn to look taken aback. He opened his mouth, closed it and then opened it again. “How.” He paused, “How long have you known?”

“A while.” He admitted. “Since Helena, really.”

Kieren stared wide eyed at Simon. “But that was _weeks_ ago. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’m saying something now.”

When Kieren thought about it, he couldn’t work out why he was shocked by this turn of events. Of course Simon watched Bake off and of course he recognised Kieren from it. “I shouldn’t be surprised really, should I?” He said.

“No, not really.” Simon shrugged. “So, what d’ya say?”

“I don’t usually watch it.” Kieren said, but one glance at Simon’s crestfallen face changed his mind. “It might be alright if I watch it with you, I suppose.”

Simon visibly lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He said with a nod. “Why not.”

“You sure?”

Kieren smiled. “Yeah, I am, actually.”

“That’s great” he said “I’ll see you at 8.00ish then?”

“Before eight” Kieren confirmed with a nod.

A few minutes after Simon had left the bakery, Catherine appeared in the back doorway with a loud thump, struggling with several heavy Tesco bags.

“I need another damn employee!” She yelled throwing her shopping down on the counter.

Amy popped her head around the kitchen door. “In that case, have I got some great news for you!”

Catherine narrowed her eyes at Amy. ‘I’ve got great news for you’ was a phrase one _never_ wanted to hear coming out of Amy’s mouth. It could only end badly.

“I’ve got the perfect guy.” She said. “His name is Simon. Great baker, could trust him with your firstborn son and.” She drew out the ‘a’ for a few moments. “He already helped out in the rush earlier.”

“Amy.” Catherine said rubbing at her forehead with her left hand, Kieren could almost feel her headache. “Did you offer someone employment without asking me?”

“Nooo…” She lied. Badly.

“Amy.” Catherine’s tone was sharp; the kind of tone that should be used for phrases like ‘I have access to knives and I know where you live’.

Kieren stepped in before Amy could say something potentially damaging to the both of them. “She didn’t, Catherine. He just helped out when it was really busy earlier. Loaded the dishwasher and stuff.”

Catherine shifted her gaze between them for a few moments before sighing. “Fine. Give me his number and I’ll get him in for an interview.”

“Yay!” Amy exclaimed, clapping her hands together delightedly.

“That’s not a yes, Amy.” Catherine warned, “It’s a maybe.”

Amy skipped towards the shop front. “That’s what you think.” She sing-songed, chipper as always.

Catherine already looked like she was regretting her decision immensely. “You have his number Kieren?”

“Yeah.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it over.

Catherine paused in heading to the office to copy it down. “Is this the same Simon you two keep gossiping about?”

Kieren sighed but straightened up. “Yes it is.”

“Is she telling the truth about him?”

He nodded. “He’s a great baker; he’ll do a good job.”

“This is on your head Kieren, I hope you know that.”

That was completely unfair, a fact that Catherine knew full well. But Kieren just nodded his agreement.

There was a time for picking fights; this wasn’t it.

***

Kieren neatened the back of his hair before knocking on Simon’s door at 7.45 that evening. Simon was wearing his stupid apron again when he let Kieren in and had a spatula in his hand.

“Sorry, I won’t be a sec, gotta get these macaroons off the tray or they’ll never cool.” Simon said as they made their way to the kitchen. Most of his housemates were sat around the table eating pizzas. A few stared longingly at the macaroons on the cooling rack. Simon rattled off their names, which Kieren forgot instantly, and carried on with what he was doing.

“You’ve been baking.” Kieren remarked leaning on the edge of the island across from Simon and peering at the little biscuits. They looked good, perhaps a few were a little caught on the edges and some weren’t quite as round as the rest, but they were a nice deep red colour and had a decent shine on top.

“Yeah, Catherine asked me to bring something to the interview tomorrow.” He said, swatting one of his housemates’ hands away with his spatula. “So _none_ for _you_.” He said to the room at large, who booed good-naturedly.

He transferred the last macaroon to the cooling rack and put the trays in a pile by the sink. “Will you give us a hand with these?” Simon asked, picking up the first two racks. “I don’t trust this lot.”

“Well fuck you too Simon.” One of them yelled and Simon gave him a look that shut him right up.

Kieren took the last two racks trying to hold back his smile and followed Simon to his room.

He was greeted instantly by something brushing against his leg. He looked down at the little (not so little anymore, though) cat with a grin. He placed the macaroons on the bed and crouched down to scratch behind her ears. “Hello again Helena.” She purred loudly back at him “How did you get so big? You’re _ginormous_!”

“Tell me about it.” Simon remarked and Kieren glanced up to find him leaning against the wall with the soppiest smile on his face. “Sometimes she’s bigger in the evening than she was when I left in the morning.”

“How is she doing?” He asked, still stroking the cat.

Simon shrugged “She’s okay, I think she needs more freedom. I take her out when I can and she has the run of the hallway and kitchen, but I don’t think it’s enough.”

“Your housemates know?” Kieren asked, surprised.

“Yeah, I think they knew when we first brought her in, really.”

Kieren laughed. “We weren’t very subtle, I suppose.”

“No, we weren’t.”

The clock on Simon’s wall read two minutes to eight, so Kieren picked up Helena and plopped her on his lap as he sat on Simon’s bed. Simon sat next to him and switched on the tiny telly in the corner. The BBC 2 ident flashed on the screen and the broadcaster introduced the programme.

“This is so weird.” Simon said, “You’re here, and you’re there.”

“Tell me about it.” Kieren cringed at the first close up of his face. “I look… wrong.”

Simon nodded. “Yeah, you do. There’s a reason I didn’t recognise you at first.”

The Kieren on the screen had been slaved over for hours in makeup. A careful application of mousse and different coloured alcohol activated paint left his skin looking as flawed and real as a living persons. “I wish they hadn’t done it.” Kieren sighed “It’s not like I’m comfortable without cover-up, but that was excessive.”

“And the medical gloves?” Simon asked, eyes fixed on the screen in a way that showed how he was totally not concentrating on the programme.

“God, I hated the medical gloves.” Kieren shuddered at the thought. “I used to take them off when no one was looking.” Simons mouth quirked up in a smile.

“I couldn’t believe it when I first saw them. It made me so _angry_. What reason did they give _you_ for it?”

“They told me it was to protect my hands. ‘Cause they wouldn’t heal if I cut them.” Simon snorted at that. “Yeah, they just didn’t want to catch my cooties.”

“The living are terrible.” Simon said.

“Not all the living.”

Simon finally turned to Kieren and gave him a look that was equal parts baffled and stunned.

“Hey, I see your judgey eyes. Don’t judge me. I have living friends who are great.”

Simon stared at him for a few seconds too long. “I have my reasons for hating the living, Kieren.” Simon turned back to the screen where the judges were talking to a contestant about their sweet pies.

Kieren decided not to bring up Simon’s very alive housemates in the room next door. Simon had his own opinions about this, same as Kieren did. It was totally fine. But as he watched the way Paul Hollywood stood half a foot further away from Kieren’s counter than he did with the other contestants, he thought that Simon might have a point.

***

Kieren was sat with his knees up to his chest, watching the screen through gaps in his fingers while Simon held his sides and laughed.

“I can’t _believe_ I just did that.” He gasped, “What the fuck was I _thinking?_ ”

On the screen, Kieren was fucking up his pork pie pastry.

“They just edited it like that though, right?” Simon wheezed. “You can’t have done that?”

Kieren let out an undignified squeak as his on screen counterpart did the exact opposite of the right thing.

“No, you _did_ do that. Oh my god.” Simon’s emotions flickered between horror and trying not to laugh at the faces Kieren was making, both on screen and off.

Simon’s eyes stayed glued to the television as he watched Paul Hollywood put Kieren’s pork pies last in the technical challenge. He leaned forward, staring transfixed, as Kieren made mistake after mistake, presenting a solid lump of pastry covered in meringue to the judges.

“I disappointed Mary.” Kieren whined while Mary Berry made faces at his pitiful offering. “Disappointing Mary feels like kicking the queen in the face and making off with her favourite corgi.”

But Simon wasn’t paying attention to Kieren’s commentary anymore; he was too busy listening to the judges’ opinions.

 _“Kieren is definitely in the danger zone.”_ Said Paul Hollywood. “ _His tartlets this morning were bland, last in the technical-”_

He was cut off by Mary, “ _And that meringue pie today! I could barely bite that pastry.”_

As they discussed the rest of the bakers, Simon found himself biting his nails, rooting for Kieren harder than ever before. He was pretty sure Kieren was laughing at him, but then again, he was pretty sure he didn’t care.

He grabbed Kieren’s hand when Mel announced the star baker for the week. Kieren squeezed back.

“ _And the person that will be leaving us today is… Kieren. I’m so sorry love.”_

“What?” Simon muttered, shocked. “But, you were gonna win.”

Kieren chuckled. “Nope, pastry week was my downfall.”

“ _Kieren’s presentation is always spectacular.”_ Said Paul, _“But his flavours let him down almost every time.”_

The screen cut to Kieren stood outside the tent in front of a tree. “ _Yeah, I’m disappointed in myself, but I gave it my all, and I couldn’t do more than that. I didn’t think they’d even accept my application, so to get this far has been incredible. But yeah, for the first PDS contestant, I did pretty well.”_ The picture cut to a shot of the contestants hugging Kieren before moving back to him again. “ _That’s the last time I get my dad to taste test a bake for me, though.”_ He laughs.

“How are you so calm about this?” Simon asked. “They booted you off!”

Kieren shrugged. “My flavours were weak; I had a bad week- It was my time to leave, Simon.”

“But-” He began, but had no words to continue. Simon really hadn’t considered for a second that Kieren would lose, not now that he knew him and knew what he was capable of.

“I wasn’t good enough, it’s fine.”

Simon turned to look at Kieren for the first time. He looked truly indifferent, but Simon was distraught. He stared at Kieren in that intense, disconcerting way of his. “You are good enough.” He swore “You are absolutely good enough. You’re incredible Kieren.”

Kieren shrugged again “I’m not that great.” He muttered.

“You are.” He insisted, still staring him down.

“Whatever you say mister bossy-pants.” Kieren looked at Simon with a small smile.

It was then that Simon realised that his hand was still joined with Kieren’s, and that Kieren had been rubbing soothing circles on Simons hand with his thumb. He also noticed quite how little space now lay between them, and how Kieren had been staring at his lips for a few moments too long.

It was the most natural thing in the world to lean forwards and presses his lips against Kieren’s.

They met in the middle and there were a few moments of awkward nose bumping and teeth knocking before they found a balance that worked with their impervious skin; it was hard to kiss someone when neither party could really feel it.

But they struck a balance, and they kept that balance throughout most of the night.

After all, it wasn’t like they needed to come up for air.

***

Catherine’s eyes widened as she chewed slowly on a macaroon. She looked down at the remaining biscuit, then up at Simon, Kieren, Amy and back to the macaroon again. She promptly shoved the rest in her mouth and sighed.  She covered her full mouth with her hand and said, “Vreesremazin.”

Simon tilted his head with a frown and looked to Kieren for a translation. Kieren and Amy merely shrugged.

Catherine swallowed loudly and tried again. “These are _amazing!_ ” She said, “seriously, _seriously_ amazing.”

“Really?” Simon asked, a hopeful smile on his lips.

Catherine nodded frantically. “I feel so bad for you lot, you are missing out. These are possibly the _best_ macaroons I have ever had” She patted her rotund stomach. “And I’ve eaten a fair few.”

“What did I tell ya Catherine, he’s a baking natural!” she nudged Simon in the side with her elbow, possibly harder than she needed to. Kieren frowned at her too wide, too brittle grin and countenance that seemed unnaturally and intensely cheerful. He hip bumped her and mouthed, “You okay?” When she turned to look at him. She nodded in reply with a smile that still didn’t look right. Kieren let it drop for now, but he’d ask her about it later.

“Screw it.” Catherine said throwing her hands in the air. “You’re hired. Whatever.”

“Seriously?” Simon said, incredulous.

“Yeah, why not.” Catherine made her way to the office. “I’ll get the paperwork sorted, you can start on Monday.” She pointed at the three of them from the doorway. “You better not make me regret this decision.” 

Simon nodded solemnly. “I won’t let you down.”

“You’d better not.” She sighed. “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to get you to wear cover-up will I?”

Simon stared her down, eyes steely. “Absolutely not.”

Catherine rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. “Whatever. It’s probably well overdue anyway” She muttered as she disappeared into the office and closed the door.

The trio stood looking at one another before Simon let out a large exhalation of air and plopped onto a stool.

“That went well.” Kieren said, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Yeah it did.” Simon’s brows furrowed with something akin to confusion. “ _Really_ well.”

Amy glanced at the clock and hastily grabbed some trays. “Well,” she said, “I’d love to stand around nattering all day, but someone needs to get some work done here.”  With that, she swept from the room, skirts swirling in her wake.

“She’s right.” Kieren sighed. “Better get the shop open.” But he glanced longingly at Simon, as if there was something (Someone) else he’d much rather be doing.

Simon nodded. “Want to come to mine after work?”

A grin stretched across Kieren’s face. “I’d love that.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later then.” He said, smiling too.

Just as Simon was about to leave the room, Kieren grabbed the sleeve of his grandpa jumper and pulled him in for a kiss. It was achingly sweet, light and soft; a barely-there presence on their unresponsive skin.  Kieren pulled away and smiled “Congratulations.” He said.

“Thank you.” He answered, eyes fixed on Kieren’s lips.

Kieren couldn’t help pulling Simon in for one last kiss before he left the bakery with a smile and a cheery wave for Amy.

As soon as the door closed, Kieren collapsed against the wall with a thunk and breathed out heavily. He ran his fingers over his lips, trying to feel some kind of sensation there. Thankfully, Kieren had always had an overactive imagination.

He half expected Amy to poke her head around the doorway and scare him half to death again with some snarky comment or other. Worryingly, nothing came and so Kieren went in search of her.

The dawn baking staff had already been and gone and the rest of the morning workers had yet to arrive, so it was eerily quiet in the pre-opening hours at _Cake Modern_. Kieren found Amy at the back of the café, rubbing absently at a gleaming table with a cloth.

“I think you missed a spot, partner.” Kieren joked, but Amy’s head snapped violently towards him

“What, where?” She asked, slightly frantic.

Kieren frowned. “Amy, are you alright?”

She sighed and took the seat behind the table. “Not really, no.” She admitted, running her hands over her face and badly smudging her cover-up. Kieren slipped into the opposite chair.

“What’s the matter?”

She peered at him from between her fingers. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

 “That’s not like you.” His brows furrowed further.

 “No, it isn’t.”

“Why couldn’t you sleep?”

“My stupid brain wouldn’t shut up.” She tried a smile, but it fell flat.

“Do you want to tell uncle Kieren what’s bothering you?” He asked, using his best primary school teacher voice and taking her hand in his.

She laughed a little shakily and shook her head. “I don’t know if I should really.” She looked up at him. “You won’t like it.”

“You can tell me Amy, it doesn’t matter if I like it or not.”

“It’s about Simon though.”

Ice shot through Kieren and for a second his hand went slack around Amy’s. She held on though, squeezing back tightly. She seemed to come to a decision and took a deep breath, pulling her shoulders back, face grim.

“You remember when Simon first came in and I thought I knew him from somewhere?” She asked. Kieren nodded slowly, it vaguely rang a bell. “Well, I’ve worked out why I recognise him, and you’re really not gonna like it.”

***

Simon’s smile faltered when he opened the door to a visibly agitated Kieren.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, but Kieren just pushed past him, knocking him back a little with his shoulder. He strode straight to Simons room and let himself in. Simon followed him hastily and found him pacing up and down the floor, Helena winding through his legs. “What’s wrong Kieren.” He asked again.

Kieren looked up, fury in his eyes. “You were in the ULA”

Simon’ heart sank. It wasn’t a question, but he answered with a nod anyway because he knew this day would come eventually.

“You were a _disciple_.”

That wasn’t a question either, but Simon still muttered, “Yeah”

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

Simon shrugged. “It wasn’t important.”

Kieren stopped pacing and wheeled around to glare at Simon. “Not imp-” He paused and took a calming breath. “Not important? You spent years at the head of a terrorist organisation that killed friends of mine, and that’s not important?”

“Yeah, I _spent_. Notice the past tense. I’m not there anymore.”

“But why didn’t you just tell me? I shouldn’t have had to hear it from Amy.”

Simon, in spite of himself, was starting to get angry now. “Amy was in the ULA too,” He pointed out. “I don’t see you shouting at her about it.”

“Amy was at the ULA commune for four months before she got cold feet and left. And the difference is she _told me_ about it.”

“It’s hard to talk about, so I just didn’t.”

“How am I supposed to trust you if you keep things like this from me?”

Simon scoffed. “That’s rich coming from Mr bakeoff. You neglected to mention that little nugget of information.”

“One is The Great British Bake Off and the other is a terrorist organisation. You can’t compare those things.”

“A secret’s a secret’s a secret. It doesn’t make a bit of difference what it is.”

Kieren made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. “But, I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me!”

 “I killed someone." Simon said quietly, partly hoping that Kieren wouldn’t hear him.

Kieren stood stock still “ _What?”_

“I _killed_ a child, a little PDS boy. I took a knife and I stuck it in the base of his skull because they _told_ me to, so ask me again why I don’t like talking about the ULA, Kieren.”

Kieren sat on the edge of the bed, all of the fight having gone out of him. Simon dropped into the hard wooden chair in the corner of the room, resting his face in his hands.

“I was alone for a long time after the rising.” Simon began, taking advantage of Kieren’s silence. “My dad had kicked me out, and the ULA gave me a home and a cause and a reason to get up in the morning. They were a lot smaller then, a lot less official, there were eleven before I got there.” His voice took on a mocking tone. “I was one of the twelve disciples of the Undead Prophet and _god_ did I feel important. For the first time in a long time, I had power, and I felt more alive than I ever had living.

“I was given a mission, to go to this village in the middle of nowhere, and find the first risen; he would bring about the second rising. So I went, like a good little soldier, I went and I found this kid who seemed to fit the bill, rose when the clock struck midnight and all that rubbish. I was so bloody pleased with myself. I’d made Him proud, on my first solo mission and all. I had found the first risen, and he would lead us all to greatness.” He sat up a little, shook his head bitterly and began to fiddle with his hands in his lap while Kieren looked on, transfixed and horrified at the words spilling from Simon’s mouth.

“So I tell them all. I tell them that I’ve found him. They clap me on the shoulder, well done Brother, but that’s just the first part. My work is ‘not yet finished.’” He let out a bark of humourless, nervous laughter. “In order for the second rising to begin, I have to sacrifice the first risen.

“Sounds plausible enough right? That makes perfect sense, so I pick up the little bundle of ceremonial knives they give me and I wend my merry way back to the countryside. They said jump and I didn’t even bother asking how high, I just leapt. So I stab the kid, and guess what happens? Nothing. Nothing happens. Because…” Simon had to stop and close his eyes for a moment, so Kieren filled in for him.

“The Undead Prophet was a fake.” He says quietly, because he remembers the news stories during his first year of uni, remembers following the events religiously.

“Completely. Some creep trying to test how far he could push people.” Simon grimaced “And the police let me off with a few months community service because the kid I killed was only PDS; he didn’t matter enough. I lost every last scrap of my faith in the living in that moment.”

“But they said in the news, none of you had any control over your actions. He was pulling your strings wasn’t he?”

“I had full control over my actions Kieren, there’s no excusing what I did, so don’t bother trying.” He stared straight into Kieren’s eyes. “I am a murderer, and I should have been put down when they caught me burying a knife into a child.”

Kieren’s face softened “Oh, Simon…” he murmured, intending to move closer to Simon, to take his hand or something, but something in Simon’s eyes stopped him.

“Y’know what Kieren, just get out.” He exclaimed, opening the door and pointing at the corridor.

“Simon-”

“Get OUT Kieren!”

Kieren stepped through the doorway, and turned to say something, but Simon slammed the door shut on his face.

“Simon?” Kieren said through the wood. “Si?”

Simon ignored Kieren and slid down the door, curling into a ball on the floor, wracked with tearless sobs, body quaking with the strength of them.

When morning came around, Simon had not moved from that spot.

***

Kieren spent the next couple of days trying to get in touch with Simon.

He left countless answerphone messages and sent hundreds of texts, but no reply came.

He missed Simon. He missed talking to him and teaching him and being around him. Kieren hadn’t realised how much he’d gotten used to it, to the idea of just having him around, hadn’t realised that he’d stopped thinking of Simon as ‘just a friend’ weeks ago.

He missed him, and he worried about him.

In the hours when he should’ve been doing school work, Kieren sat at his laptop and searched news websites. He looked for articles about the Undead Prophet and the collapse of the ULA and the little PDS boy that no one seemed to care about.

He was twelve years old.

The more articles he read, the less he blamed Simon. He clicked through story after story about the Undead Prophet, found websites talking about the techniques he used, read ULA testimonies of threats and abuse and brainwashing; he couldn’t blame Simon.

He wanted to. He wanted so much to be able to blame him for the things he had done. That boy had lived a few towns over from Kieren. He was _twelve._ He was twelve and Simon had driven a knife into his brain.

And the fact that it could have been _anyone_ scared Kieren exponentially. The amount of PDS sufferers in that town who had been in danger without even knowing it was terrifying. Hell, if the ULA had been given different information, it could’ve been Amy. It could even have been Kieren himself.

But Kieren still couldn’t find it within himself to pin any blame on Simon. All he could see was the Undead Prophet, the face behind the mask. An ordinary looking bloke with a bald patch and laughter lines; a psychologist with a daughter and a wife in Devon. He didn’t look evil and it should’ve made him harder to be angry at. But as Kieren stared at the photo that was plastered all over the papers, the one of a smiling happy family on a beach, he thought about how he had never in his life hated a single person more than he hated this man.

After a few days of silence from Simon, Kieren made his way to the flat upstairs. One of Simon’s housemates opened the door when he knocked. Kieren racked his brains for a name to put to this face, but it was no good.

“Is Simon there?” Kieren asked.

The woman, whether unconsciously or not, shifted so that her body blocked the doorway and crossed her arms. “He’s asked us not to let you in.”

“Please. I just need to talk to him.”

“I’m sorry mate, I’m not gonna let you in.”

Kieren sighed, rubbed his forehead with his palm. “Can you tell me how he is at least?”

She screwed up her face, an exaggerated show of considering it, then shook her head. “Nah, mate. I’m not doing that.”

“Can you just get him to call me?”

“If he wants to call you Kieren, he’ll call you.”

“Please.”  Kieren all but pleaded. “I _need_ to speak to him.”

The woman sighed “Alright.” She said, “I’ll talk to him about it, but I’m not making any promises.”

“Thank you.” Kieren said, relieved. He turned to leave but a “Kieren” from the doorway stopped him.

“I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you.” The woman said, “frankly, I don’t really care.” She stepped out of the flat and into Kieren’s personal space. “But if you do any harm to him -any at all- we will end you.” She crossed her arms and stared him down with fierce eyes.

Despite her being a foot shorter than him and slim framed, he believed her.

“I never have, and never will intentionally hurt that man.” Kieren said solemnly, “And if I ever did, I would deserve anything you can throw at me.”

She nodded once and took a step back “Good.” She said, “’Cause we’ve grown quite attached to him here.”

“It’s good to see he’s got so many people looking out for him.” Kieren said, because it was true, he was taking comfort from that knowledge. There were people there making sure he took his shots and didn’t do anything stupid. That was important.

“Take care now, Kieren.” She called down the stairs as he returned to his flat. He couldn’t tell whether that was meant to be a threat or not. From what he had seen of her already, he assumed it was and mentally vowed not to cross that woman.

She probably knew where he lived, after all.

***

Amy was unsurprised to find Kieren on her doorstep that rainy Friday night. He was soaked to the skin, clutching his backpack to his chest. Whether that was to protect it or for comfort, Amy was unsure, but it was equal parts adorable and heart breaking.

“Can I stay here tonight?” He asked quietly.

“Oh love” she said, pulling him in for a hug. “Of course you can!”

Kieren wrapped his arms around Amy and buried his face into her neck. He sniffed quietly once, and before either of them knew it, Kieren was sobbing into Amy’s shoulder.

“Oh, Kieren.” She murmured, pulling him into the house and closing the door behind them to give her friend a bit of privacy. Kieren clung onto Amy tightly and she responded in kind. She didn’t know how long they stood there, but she didn’t, wouldn’t, let go.

When Kieren finally drew back, wiping at his eyes, he looked a little better. “I’m sorry.” He said thickly.

“Don’t you dare apologise Kieren Walker.” She said, “what else is your BDFF for, eh?” Kieren laughed a little. “C’mon, you need a nice hot bath, and then we’ll get in our pyjamas and talk about boy’s, how does that sound?”

“That sounds nice.” Kieren admitted, following her down the hall.

“Of course it does, nothing better than a girly sleepover with your BDFF to make you feel better!”

Amy ran Kieren a bath with plenty of bubbles while he sat on the toilet lid and stared into space. She left him to it and changed into her comfiest, holeyest, dorkiest, flannel pyjamas.

When Kieren emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, barefaced and pyjama clad, he looked _a lot_ better. He found Amy reading a terrible Mills and Boon novel on her bed, surrounded by more cushions and duvets than he had ever seen in his life. Fairy lights and a warm lamp lit the room and left it feeling cosy and safe. Kieren plunked himself on the end of the bed and hugged a pink fluffy cushion to his chest.

“How ya feelin’ Handsome?” Amy asked, discarding her book and focussing her undivided attention of Kieren.

He shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Better, I think.”

Amy smiled brightly. “Good.” She paused, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shrugged again and played with his cushion, plucking at the strands of powder pink fur.

“You don’t have to, but it might help a little.”

Kieren remained silent, so Amy plucked a handful of nail polishes from her bedside table and tossed them unceremoniously onto the bed. “Pick a colour; this conversation will be easier with nail painting.”

Kieren nodded. “Ah well, of course. We cannot truly sleepover until the painting of the nails ritual has been performed, and the correct sacrifice made to the goddess of twelve year old girls.”

“Hush you.” She smacked him lightly on the arm. “It’s an important part of the process, so paint your nails or get out.”

Kieren sighed, but selected the most obnoxious hot pink on offer and began to shake it. He twisted the cap off, pulled out the brush and executed the most perfect toenail painting Amy had seen, probably ever. She stared delighted at Kieren’s right foot as he moved onto the left.

“You’ve done this before.” She remarked, picking out a dark blue and shaking it.

“You’re forgetting three important things about me, Amy.” He recoated his brush with the varnish. “Firstly, I have a little sister. Secondly, I am an artist and cake decorator with a steady hand and excellent knowledge of paint types. And lastly, two words for you.” He finished his last nail with a flourish and looked right into her eyes. “Punk. Phase.”

Amy burst out laughing, loudly and unabashedly. It was infectious, and a smile spread across Kieren’s face as he admired his hot pink toes. She chucked the bottle she was holding at Kieren and shoved her hand towards him “Do mine?” She asked blinking sweetly up at him.

Kieren rolled his eyes, but cracked the lid from the bottle anyway.

“So.” Amy began, Kieren suitably distracted. “Wanna talk about it.”

He sighed and dipped his brush back in the polish. “I don’t know what I did wrong Amy.” He said, “He won’t talk to me, he won’t listen to me, he’s just… gone.”

“He hasn’t given you any reason at all?”

He shook his head. “He pushed me out of his door and I haven’t heard a word from him since. I went up there today, but his flatmate wouldn’t let me in. She said she’d talk to him, but I don’t know if it’ll help.”

Amy sat silent for a minute and considered. “Do you want me to talk to him?” She asked.

Kieren thought about it for a minute, weighed the pros and cons and shook his head. “No, that might make it worse.” He finished her nails and resealed the varnish bottle. “But thank you.”

She blew on her nails. “M’kay, let me know if you change your mind.”

“I think I’m gonna leave him alone for a while. He doesn’t want to see me, I need to respect that, give him some time.”

Amy nodded in a way she hoped looked supportive. Internally, she thought that was all an absolute crock of shit. She would do something about it herself.

As her nan always said, if you want something doing…

***

Amy knocked repeatedly and loudly on the door of Simon’s flat. She continued, unrelenting and without pause until someone let her in. It took them a while, but eventually a guy opened the door, rubbing his eyes with one hand. Amy didn’t allow him to speak, but pushed right past him with a brash “Thank you”. He called after her, but gave up with a shrug and went yawning back to bed.

Amy repeated the process on the door to room 5. After a minute or so, a muffled “Sod off” drifted through the wood.

“Simon, it’s Amy.” She called, still knocking on his door. After another minute of silence, she yelled. “I’m not leaving ‘till you let me in Simon.”

She felt the door move beneath her hand, so she lowered it and waited. The door opened a crack and then stopped. Amy peered around the edge of the door to find Simon wrapped up in his duvet, curled up on his bed, his laptop in front of him; wallowing.

“Cooee!” She said, moving into the room and closing the door behind her again. “Your saviour has arrived!” She bowed before throwing herself onto the bed next to Simon, earning herself a glare. “So you can quit your wallowing.”

“Piss off Amy.” He mumbled from inside his duvet cocoon.

“Now, now! That’s no way to treat Amy the beautiful genius, not when she has come bearing gifts.” She pulled a takeaway cup from her bag and waved it in front of Simon’s face. He snatched it from her hands and drew it into his nest.

“Thanks.” He said grudgingly. It was from his favourite coffee shop and everything.

“You’re welcome, misery guts.”

She flopped into his personal space, shoving her face in front of his laptop. When she caught sight of the screen, she rolled her eyes hard enough to pull a muscle and tilted her head to see into his cocoon.

“ _Please_ tell me you are not watching Bake Off repeats like some poor love sick teenager.” She groaned.

The duvets moved in a motion that might have been a shrug and Amy sighed.  She sat up and tugged at Simon’s duvets. He put up a good fight, but Amy emerged victorious, leaving Simon exposed in his flannel pyjamas on the corner of the bed. Amy chucked the blankets across the room and crossed her arms at him.

“You’re evil.” He muttered, sour.

“It’s for your own good Simon. I am staging an intervention.”

“Doesn’t there need to be more than one person for an intervention?”

“Well, since your flatmates are only encouraging you and Kieren wouldn’t come ‘cause he’s,” She made finger quotes. “’Respecting your boundaries’ or whatever, I had no choice but to intervene solo.”

“So here you are.”

She grinned. “Here I am.”  They sat in silence for a few minutes, Simon taking sniffs of his coffee, before Amy broke the silence. “I feel like I need to apologise.”

Simon scoffed and Amy pointed a finger at him.

“Hey, I don’t apologise often, so count yourself lucky mister.” She paused. “I am sorry for telling Kieren without talking to you first.”

“Well, thanks, I suppose.”

“Hold your horses mister, I’m not finished yet.” She took a deep breath, “I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you about it beforehand, but I am not sorry that I told him.”

Simon blinked, taken aback.

“I stand by that decision, because that was a conversation you needed to have- you have no right to keep that kind of thing from him. You should’ve been the one to tell him, it shouldn’t have been me.”

Simon nodded. “You’re right.” He admitted. “You’re absolutely right, I should’ve told him.”

“Yes, yes you should have.”

He winced. “Is he very angry with me?”

She frowned at him. “Simon, Kieren isn’t pissed at you.”

“He’s not?”

“No, of course he’s not, you plum. I’m pissed at you. I am very pissed with you, but Kieren isn’t.”

Simon stood up and began to pace “I killed someone Amy, of course he’s angry. Disgusted. Probably never wants to see me again.”

“He would be here now if you would let him in; he’s not disgusted, he just doesn’t understand what he did wrong.”

Simon stopped abruptly. “What?” He trailed his hands down his face. “He thinks _he_ did something wrong?” 

“What else should he think? You’ve been refusing to see him Dumdum!”

He sat back on the edge of the bed with his head in the hands. “He’s done nothing wrong. That’s part of the problem.”

Amy made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. “Just tell me what’s wrong, Simon.”

Simon took a deep breath. “It’s just.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “I just don’t deserve someone like Kieren.”

Amy raised an eyebrow. “Care to share your, definitely flawed, thinking with the class? Because you couldn’t be more wrong there.”

“Kieren is amazing. He is just incredible; I’ve never met anyone like him before, and I’ve met a lot of people. He’s this incredible decorator and patient teacher and just beautiful in every way. And I-” he broke off and sighed “I killed a twelve year old.” He shrugged with a sad, resigned smile “I am broken and he is an angel.”

Amy rolled her eyes and stood up. “Are you _listening_ to yourself? Jesus Christ Simon, you are such an idiot.” Simon looked like he wanted to say something, but Amy jabbed a finger sharply in his direction. “No. You listen to me now Simon Monroe. Kieren Walker is not your god or your religion or some form of higher power descended upon the earth to bake cakes and shit peace and love onto us lesser mortals. He is your equal; he is just as flawed as you. We undead all have blood on our hands. You’re no different to rest of us.”

She stepped forward, glaring down at his shrunken form on the edge of the bed, exposed and childlike with his feet bare and his hands clenched in his lap. “Not one of us was responsible for what the prophet made us do.” She continued, eyes blazing “How _dare_ you suggest otherwise. You were his tool, and nothing more. We killed our fair share in 2009, all of us, he just added to those tallies.”

She knelt down in front of him, taking his hands in hers, voice soft. “You and Kieren have more in common than you think, Simon. The moment you stop this crazy hero worship and accept that will be the moment there is hope for the two of you.

“Have I made myself clear?”

Simon nodded slowly before looking to Amy’s face. “You’re right.” He said, “You’re absolutely right.”

“I’m always right Dumdum.” She grinned at him, right back to her cheerful self in a blink of an eye. “So, will you see him?”

She looked so hopeful that Simon found himself nodding his reply without really thinking about it.

“Yay!” Amy exclaimed, clapping Simon’s hands together and drawing a small smile out of him. “Come in early on Monday morning, you’ll get a chance to talk to him then.”

Simon took a deep breath and felt a lot lighter than he had done for days. He sure was glad he had a day to decide what to say to Kieren, but having that to aim for was comforting.

He could do this.

***

Kieren sat in Catherine’s office, fiddling with his apron strings while he waited for Simon to arrive. His nerves were unnecessary, he knew that. This was Simon, his best friend after Amy, the man he had fancied ever since their first conversation; there was no need to be nervous.

That knowledge didn’t stop his leg from jiggling or his hands from tying and retying his apron strings under the desk. Nor did it stop him chewing his lip and flicking his eyes towards the door every few seconds so he wouldn’t miss the familiar silhouette on the frosted glass.  

He so wanted this to go well.

When the familiar silhouette did appear, Kieren stood abruptly from his chair and smoothed down the back of his hair. Three quiet raps on the wood and Kieren took a deep breath before calling “Come in.”

Simon peered around the corner of the door and smiled.

“Hi.” Kieren said, waving a little bit and then stopping immediately, because that was a stupid thing to be doing.

Simon stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. “Hi.” He said.

“So…”

“Yeah…”

After a few awkward silent moments, Simon took a deep breath and said, “I’ve been an idiot.”

“You have.” Kieren agreed, leaning against the desk and crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry. I run away from my problems, I always have. I shouldn’t, but I do, and I’m sorry.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’m gonna work on that.”

Kieren uncrossed his arms and sighed. “I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have confronted you like that. I was just angry, I apologise. But,” He said, pushing off from the desk and moving closer to Simon to prod him in the chest. “You should’ve said something earlier. I needed to hear it from you, not Amy.”

“I know, I absolutely know. No secrets from now on, I promise. I am sorry Kieren.”

Kieren shrugged. “Shall we put it behind us? Pick up where we left off?”

Simon visibly relaxed. “Okay.” He said, “Are you sure I’m forgiven?”

Kieren nodded. “Of course you are, as long as you stop treating me like I’m bloody Jesus, I’m really, _really_ not.”

Simon held out his hand. “I promise.”

Kieren shook his hand with a grin before using it to pull Simon into a hug. It was a good long one, warm and tight and comforting.

“You’re an idiot.” Kieren said into Simon’s ear.

“I know.” He admitted.

“But you’re my idiot.”

“I know.”

The two men stayed like that, smiling into each other’s necks, until Catherine came to shoo them out of her office with a vague threat and an expression that someone who didn’t know her may have called ‘fond’.  

Simon started his first shift at _Cake Modern_ with a grin plastered on his face and a spring in his step.

Things looked bright again, and they would continue to look bright for a very long time.

***

**Epilogue.**

In the back of the quiet bakery, Simon stands at the brushed metal counter and kneads dough.

Across from him, Kieren walker ices biscuits, a small smile playing on his lips. He is proudly and stubbornly barefaced, has been for years, and Simon still can’t believe how beautiful his husband is without all that cover-up.

Kieren catches him looking and smiles up at him.

At the mixer, one of their newest employees manages to cover herself in icing sugar, much to the amusement of the room at large. Someone hands her a makeup wipe and she manages to get the worst of it off her face, taking most of her cover-up off with it. She looks at the wipe and shrugs, rubbing until her skin is bare. No one here cares, and no one ever will. She returns to her icing, a smile on her face and Simon can’t help but think about how this method of conversion is more effective than anything the ULA ever came up with. That girl will throw out her cover-up and contacts tonight, and he’s glad to still be helping people, even in such a small way.

Kieren finishes icing this batch of biscuits and brings a cool tray of cupcakes over to his counter. He swings past an oven and removes a steaming tray of cookies at exactly the right moment. The smell of the perfect ratio of dough to chocolate to spices wafts through the bakery. Simon spent years perfecting that recipe, not calling his work complete until he gained the Jem Walker stamp of approval. He managed it one autumn day in Roarton and she ate through an entire 24 cookie batch in two days. He is horrendously proud of that.

He is proud of a lot of things actually. He is proud of the bakery that he co-owns with his wonderful husband. He is proud of the awards they display behind the counter. He is proud of the prizes he and Kier have won. He is proud of their employees, who are an amazing group of people that he is glad to know. He is proud of Amy, who runs a successful online business selling her handmade 1950’s style clothing. He is proud of Kieren, always proud of Kieren, for everything he has ever done.

He is proud of himself too, that he’s doing good things now, that he’s carved a place for himself in the world and he’s doing okay. He’s really doing okay.  

Kieren grabs Simons arm on his way past, kissing him quickly on the cheek before moving away to stop David at the bread slicer from cutting his fingers off. Simon shapes his dough into loaves with a quick, practiced hand. He is getting better at presentation every day.

Kieren inspects his loaves with a grin.

“They’re perfect.” He says, wrapping his arms around Simon’s waist, squeezing a little.

“They’re pretty good.”  He agrees, leaning into Kieren’s side.

“I love you.” Kieren whispers into Simon’s ear. Simon grins and turns to peck Kieren on the jaw.

“I love you too.”

It is not the first time either of them has said it, and it will not be the last.

***

On the list of things that Simon Monroe loves most, Kieren Walker takes pride of place.

It’s an exhaustively long list, and if he removes all the things he _shouldn't_ love, then it isn’t much shorter. But Kieren is at the top, nonetheless.


End file.
